If you haven’t been to New York City lately, then you are missing out. Not because of the amazing food, extraordinary on and off-broadway shows, or the people watching. No, you are missing out because of the Manhattan Mini Storage advertisements everywhere. How clever!

There seems to be an ongoing theme lately about higher education being a waste because people end up with more debt in the United States than they actually make in income. This perception of education being a waste is hard to argue with when it is true that many of us who have gone to college end up with a huge debt. I am still paying my undergraduate loan 10+ years later, not to mention my graduate school education. It is sad.

But, I view it as an investment. I enjoyed my time at both institutions. And, in fact, sometimes I think of returning again one day. But, it is true that it is very hard not to fall into the negative thought processes of “why did I go to school to work for so little to do so much at work.” The responsibilities at work often do not match the pay. Teachers can attest to this, as well as social workers, correctional officers, and so on.

But despite this economic darkness, we (the United States) are somehow still doing alright. We are somehow, still afloat. We are surviving. And, to those of you who have invested time and money in a higher education institute, have faith that at some point you will see a return on investment. And, if you don’t see the benefits of what you have labored for, take a step back and rethink your plan. How are you going to change your life to shape it into how you really want to live? This is where I am at…rethinking the plan.

Beer sweat permeates the room. Is there a keg in here? Impossible in a room designed for undergraduate students, most not of legal age to drink.

I scan. Ping pong, foosball, and air hockey tables are cluttered in the front corner of the building. I wonder if one of the students will challenge me to a game of air hockey. A large flat screen TV is hanging from the wall in front of a nest of newly arrived freshmen. In the background, a hip-hop song rocks the beat, and I begin to shift attempting to resist the urge to move with the “bom bom bom.” I scan, again.

I set up my table amidst other clubs and organizations. My attempt to say hello to passersby is met with awkward stiff walks, shoulders hunched and eyes locked straight down. You can’t see me their body language screams. I persevere and manage to draw in some of the lone ducks with a tempting treat. In the nest, they giggle, flirt, and fall all over each other as if they were playing amidst a large bouncy castle. I guess for them, the sofa and this room is just that, a place for them to let loose in an up and coming adult world.

The room crowded with young adults, and I am the intruder. I am the suit. I am the grown-up they will rebel against because after all, they just broke free from their jails of high school and home. But, I am still young. I tell myself. I can fit in, can’t I?

It is then that I realize…I am “old.” I am going to have a tough time settling into their nest.

Truth is revealed when snow’s on the ground. Chunks of missing siding around the edges of doors and windows are exemplified. The forest becomes a hidden horizon revealed. Rotten wood overcasts the white silky glean from the snow. The road becomes slimmer and windier. The old man who was standing at his mailbox is standing with a shovel instead. And, less people attempt to travel these roads.

And so it is. The truth is revealed on this quiet morning journey; this place, although filled with character and lots of love, is not the place we will make our home.

I want to leave this world knowing I have done something fabulous! I want to be a part of something REALLY big and I want to be able to give back financially to those who have helped me along the way.

I believe in timing…this, was something that was taught to me by someone in my youth, but nevertheless, it is real. Timing really is everything and knowing that has sustained me thus far.

WE create our own anxiety and pressure that things have to happen now…but slow and steady wins the race. I will leave this world with many regrets, disappointments, and possibly with some people shouting, thank God she’s gone. But, in reality, I also believe that I will leave this world with many fulfilled hearts, joyful memories established, and opportunities.

But, how? Some might look at my life thus far and say, you already fulfilled many of those hopes and dreams, but from my perspective, I am not even close. How again will I get there? I don’t know. There has to be a way. And, in time, I will make it to where I want to be and leave this world with a legacy that my family can be proud of regardless of what the media and society deems as worthwhile news.

About one year ago, I was on the #1 train, thankful to be seated. I overheard a rowdy conversation going on at the end of the car. A group of four men (two Latinos and two African Americans) looked like they had just gotten off of work from a construction type of job-at least that’s what the shoes and hard hats suggested. They were going back and forth, talking sh*#. I had just gotten off of work, and was tired. I tried to ignore them, but without earphones and an iPod, that was impossible. I decided to listen in.

With a “Yo. Yo,” here and a “He don’t know what he’s talkin’ bout,” there. Here a “True.” There a “Shiat.” Everywhere a “Oh that’s tight,” I listened.

I scanned the train to see if anyone else was paying attention, and of course, everyone pretended to be in their own little world. In particular, there was this adorably awkward little boy, probably no more than ten years old, sitting across from me reading his large textbook about science.

I put my head back and closed my eyes, and began to wander into my own thoughts. A few more minutes later, the rowdy crowd distracted me again.

“Look at that kid reading on the train. Must be some sort of mini genius,” guffaws all around.

I looked at the little boy as he kept his eyes pinned to the page he was reading. No doubt, like the rest of the car and me, he heard the comment.

“Damn, and that book bag. That thing is heavier than him, damn,” another burst of laughter.

What surprised me next was one of the African American men spoke up for this little boy, “Hey, he’s smart. He’s gonna be something.”

“Look at his glasses; he looks smart,” said the obnoxious man who started the teasing.

“Ain’t nothin’ wrong with being smart,” said the man who stood up for him.

The train came to a stop and the little boy slammed his book, heaved his book bag onto his shoulder, and scurried off of the train.

I couldn’t help but wonder how the little boy was feeling. He was very young to be traveling on the train alone in this intimidating city of crazies, only to be targeted by some vulgar bantering men. It made me think about the environment that these gentlemen grew up in. Was it OK to ridicule children as adults in their neighborhoods? Were they victims of ridicule by an adult? Why weren’t they aware that it is NOT OK for grown men to tease a child? As an adult, it is not OK to intimidate or cause discomfort in a child. Some may argue that it will build this young man’s character. But I say, if you don’t have anything nice to say, keep your mouth shut.

My family and I have been traveling a lot this summer, hopping around from city to city, taking in the sights, and of course, sharing a hotel room with our son. Good-bye romantic getaways…for now.

I love to travel, but now that we have a son, I don’t enjoy the hotel stays as much as I used to. It is no longer a luxury to stay in a hotel but more of a danger zone to combat. My son is very young and he gets into EVERYTHING. He loves to explore and touch and jump and climb and…

Hotels just don’t childproof rooms like they should. This was never a concern to me before, but now that I have a son, I see the importance of it. There was, however, one hotel we stayed in that did actually have childproof outlets and that was pretty impressive.

In our most recent trip, our son, in the course of 4 days, managed to hurt himself about 3 times if not more. Now, of course, you are probably thinking, where were you mom? Well, I was there the whole time, but accidents do happen.

So, my question to you is, how often have your children gotten hurt in a hotel room?